


Start Making Fires

by sexonastick



Category: Actor RPF, The Runaways (2010) RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristen and Dakota spending time together during the press tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Making Fires

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written March 31st, 2010.

Kristen doesn't compose music or write any lyrics, but she still likes to play. Mostly she hums to herself while she strums, hearing Dakota's voice sometimes or remembering Joan's fingers guiding hers along the strings.

It's something private. It's like prayer. People ask her sometimes to show them what she knows, like it's a trick they want from a dog or how they treat small children -- which are just about the same thing, really -- and she wishes for a way to change the subject. 

When Dakota's there, she handles that for her. She's good with deflection, while Kristen only stammers. _"I don't-- I'm not--"_ She doesn't know of a nice way to tell someone _fuck off_. Dakota has somehow learned to say it with a smile and in a way so nice she has them saying thank you after. 

"Be firm but a little self-deprecating," she says later. "They like that."

"Oh, that I can do." She's on a stool and Dakota's sitting in a low crouch on an ottoman. The height difference is making Kristen fidget even more than usual, trying to lean until she's almost off-balance and bracing herself with her elbows on her knees. "Self-deprecating. Self-aware. Self-effacing. I've done 'em all."

A passive "mmhm" is all Dakota gives in return, so Kristen keeps going. "Effusive." But then a pause. She's running low on words. "Effervescent. Immaterial."

And then it's Dakota's hand on her leg, high enough a distance that she has to lean to reach. It's a deliberate action. Directed, meaning with intent. Debilitating.

Kristen's knee stops bouncing up and down and the foot slung against the middle rung of the stool drops to the ground. She thinks maybe she should apologize, acknowledge the little mess that engaging in dialogue with her always seems to leave behind, but Dakota is already shrugging and rubbing her hand against Kristen's jeans like she's swatting the protests away. 

* 

There are the people she is at work, the lives she's lived, and then there are the many faces of her real self. The Kristen that turns herself off for the press is in there; the good girl who gives the right answers and easy soundbites. That version of her is mostly on life support now. The other selves are stronger, louder, and the impulse to talk freely is too strong to shut off completely.

Kristen has different skins she sheds like tugging off a t-shirt. Almost all of them are neurotic little shits, though.

She zips and unzips her hoodie out of nerves or restlessness. A combination. She wants something to lay her hands on, some occupation or distraction. She complains so much about having no time to herself but isolation does her head in. She needs the contact and the feedback. Her own echo chamber self is probably the worst one she's got.

Then there's Dakota.

She isn't anything like Kristen at all. Instead of a hydra freak with multiple personalities or a series of branching paths -- a choose your own adventure book of a person -- she is complete. Wrapped up tightly and composed, with everything she is kept inside one single self. She's got layers, though, depth.

Kristen touches her hair lightly and then her ear. She strokes her as their temples press together and they talk in whispers. She feels like an explorer, charting the territory of Dakota's deepest thoughts; but these notes she makes aren't for anyone but her.

"Don't you ever get embarrassed?" she hears Dakota say. At first they had tried to make eye contact, but from this close up it only strained. Now Dakota nudges Kristen whenever she wants her to know the question is important. 

She does it now and Kristen slowly smiles, saying, "Constantly."

"But you don't really show it, you know?" 

"Uhh, no."

Dakota's obviously an even better actress than people realize, because she says shit like that without any hesitation. Like it's all somehow escaped her notice just because Kristen's normally too scrawny and pale to really show a good blush. 

"What I mean is you don't censor yourself. You're just... you."

"Oh." That's something else. That's the impulse control, or the lack of one. It's compulsion and lack of perspective. "That's not always a good thing."

"It is for people who can't do it."

When Dakota leans her weight against Kristen, she really feels small. It's like she's not even there, and only the sounds of her breathing and vibrations of her voice are left to show she hasn't pulled away yet. With their eyes still closed, the sounds of each other are all they have. 

Kristen listens to the sound of Dakota's voice, how it praises her impulsiveness, and she reaches toward bright heat, her hand on Dakota's warm leg.

This is the map that Kristen is creating to find her way out of the dark again, but maybe she'll choose to leave it behind.

Maybe she wants to stay lost here.

* 

Kristen's sheets are always wrinkled. She does the laundry but doesn't fold them fast enough. She forgets to make her bed in the morning.

They leave red creases on her cheek and on Dakota's too. Kristen smiles and rubs them away with her thumb.

"You look... stupid," she says in the blinding light of morning, blinking at the halo of Dakota's hair fanned out against the pillow. She looks like she's floating on water. They both blink but Kristen is the one who winces, twisting and sitting up. "No, I mean just-- tired. You look asleep still." She looks ahead at the wall but reaches back behind her, groping out to make sure her words are the only thing she loses now.

Dakota's fingers against her own are dry and thin like paper. Just as pale too. She knows if she lifts the sheets she'll find tiny bruises left like fingerprints. Scene of the crime. 

"You look stupid, too," Dakota says, voice steady and confident to match the gentle pressure of her hand against Kristen's back. "By which I mean stupid. Lay back down."

And who is she to argue? Dakota's the guest after all. 

*

Their knees keep making contact; they just won't listen to reason. Someone's asking questions, tape recorder in hand, and Kristen can't stop smiling. 

They have to know something is wrong. She isn't usually this pleasant in public. 

"What's it like working with Kristen?"

Dakota is diplomatic and careful without seeming to be. She is so relaxed and charming it's almost terrifying. She is just too good at telling these lies. How often does she tell others?

But then her hand is on Kristen's hip and her mouth is against her ear to whisper something. It's about life on set or some inside joke, or at least that's what the man is thinking while he packs his things and gets ready to go.

"You're doing fine." 

There she goes lying again, but as usual it's appreciated. Kristen bites her lip and tries to play it cool, zipping and unzipping only the one time before the next interviewer shows up.

*

They don't have dates; they have moments of semi-public leisure. Kristen actually calls it that one time, with the curl of her lip making the words come out sounding like a sneer but Dakota laughs anyway and says that she's funny.

Dakota indulges a whole lot of her bullshit, which is nice. It makes sense, since Dakota is nice, unlike Kristen who can be a bit of a downer, she realizes.

They end up finding somewhere to get coffee since that's a thing that both friends and girlfriends do. It's safe and neutral territory until it's time to order. Dakota takes hers black like a grown up so Kristen does that too just to avoid seeming immature. She chews her lip and thinks about sneaking in some extra sugar.

They watch the skyline as the sun sets and giggle at each other, pretend not to see the cameras.

*

They keep the curtains drawn and the lights turned low or sometimes off completely, but somehow Kristen manages not to trip. She moves slower, actually capable of calm when she has Dakota to focus her attention on.

The effort to form coherent sentences is enough to take her full attention away from the usually constant movement. She sits instead. "Do you ever want to go mountain climbing?"

"You mean just someday?"

"Well, I mean just-- Just like the feeling. Like you want to climb up buildings or break something. You ever get that?"

The pauses are never awkward with Dakota like they can be with other people. Maybe because she uses the time to think about things other than the fact that Kristen is a little bit weird and maybe somewhat off, not entirely in tune with the rest of the human race. They can both relate to this feeling of displacement.

"Sometimes," Dakota says at last; "I guess sometimes I want to scream."

Kristen laughs because she can't really imagine it. She's the one with all the excess of emotion and limited capacity to express herself through words. She's better with actions, either the little acts and movements, or the much larger gestures like reaching now to take Dakota's hand. 

"Yeah?" She follows the sound of Dakota's voice in the dark and finds the soft skin at the inside of her wrist. "Scream at who?"

"Nobody. Just life, I guess."

Smiling is actually pretty awkward when there's nobody to see it, but Kristen does it anyway. Her jaw tightens and so does her grip on Dakota's hand. "Sometimes I want to scream at reporters."

"Don't you do that already?"

"Not-- Well, not recently." Kristen watches shadows move across the ceiling, cast by the shifting headlights of cars outside the window. "I think you probably should, though."

"What?"

"Scream sometime."

It's too dark now to bother turning her head to look, but Kristen can feel Dakota moving at her side. She's closer now, warmth of one shoulder pressed into the other. "Well, if I ever do, you'll be the first person I call," she says, so close her mouth is almost grazing Kristen's shoulder.

She sounds too serious to let the words just die or fade into the night, so Kristen says, "I'd play for you, you know."

"Mm?"

"My guitar."

"Oh, yeah," says Dakota, her chin hooked over Kristen's shoulder and one hand holding onto the sheet next to Kristen's hip. "I know."

It's a nice feeling, two warm bodies meeting in the middle, and Kristen actually hopes that neither will pull away anytime soon. 

For the first time in a long ass while, she feels okay with a near total lack of movement.


End file.
